


a sense of purpose.

by emiliathegreat



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Mentions of PTSD, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, a little bit o angst, frank's pov, mentions of all kinds of bad feelings, rating for eventual smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-07
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-09-13 17:04:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16896546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emiliathegreat/pseuds/emiliathegreat
Summary: "You turn your attention to the other man and begin a discussion about how your grandfather was doing while in the group, and during your discussion, Frank was taken slightly aback. In such a somber place, it was rare for anyone to bring an energy as bright and lively as you did. It was refreshing, and he couldn’t help but stare as you interacted with his friend."orpost-season 1, frank meets you at one of curtis’ support groups when you come to pick up your grandfather and he starts to look forward to seeing you every week.





	a sense of purpose.

Recovery is hard. 

That’s what you’re told when you’ve lived through some serious shit - whether it be through drug or alcohol addiction, physical injury, or been on the front lines. It was the hardest thing that Frank had ever had to do. 

Showing up to Curtis’ meetings, let alone opening up and  _ talking _ in them were all new to him, and it was a slow process, for sure. But it was definitely interesting. Weekly, he got to grab a cup of coffee and sit and listen to the thoughts and struggles of other soldiers. It was a lot different than just hearing them from out in the hallway - he was actually able to see their faces as they spoke and see the same fear in their eyes that he felt in his heart every day. 

After Central Park and the shootout with Russo, his record had been wiped clean; Frank Castle was dead, but Pete Castiglione was able to go out and live a free life. He stayed in New York but grew out his hair again as well as his beard, and ignored any hipster remarks that were thrown his way - he would much rather deal with those than have someone recognize his face and claim that Frank Castle had once again risen from the dead. While keeping that identity 6 feet under, he still went by Frank in friendly circles, claiming that it was a childhood nickname. 

He no longer dreaded mornings. That didn’t mean that the nightmares had gone away, but it had grown easier to get out of bed in the morning. 

After another meeting, Frank got up and started to help Curtis put away chairs. It was their routine to help each other out, and that way the both of them would be able to grab another cup of coffee before it was all gone. Once the last one was folded and stacked away, he gave Curtis a hearty pat on the back. “It was a good one today, Curt.” He said, and even though the remark was short, the words were weighted with gratitude. 

The two of them had been friends long enough that the other man was able to pick up on that fact, and he gave Frank a smile. “Thanks, man. I’m really glad you keep coming. I can tell that it’s doing you some good.” 

They chat a bit more about mundane things, the kind of small talk that Frank had hated before he realized how fucking necessary it was just to feel some kind of normalcy. A few folks from the meeting came by to say their goodbyes to Curtis, but Frank didn’t really pay attention until the other man beamed with his gaze on someone at the door. 

“Hey! Was wondering when you would show up.” He boomed with a laugh, and Frank turned to see you walking toward them with a grin. You hugged Curtis and turned your glance to Frank with a smile. Curt took the introduction into his own hands. “Y/N, this is Frank, he’s an old friend of mine who comes to these meetings. We were in the Marines together.” He gave Frank a clap on the shoulder. “Frank, this is Y/N, her grandfather comes most weeks, he’s a Vietnam vet.” You held out your hand for him to shake, and he took it with a small smile, pleasantly surprised at the firmness of your grip.

You turn your attention to the other man and begin a discussion about how your father was doing while in the group, and during your discussion, Frank was taken slightly aback. In such a somber place, it was rare for anyone to bring an energy as bright and lively as you did. It was refreshing, and he couldn’t help but stare as you interacted with his friend. 

“I’d better get him back home, you know how he hates to miss his Jeopardy reruns.” You said, and Curt let out a small laugh.

“No wonder he’s quick as a whip for his age. I’ll let you get to it.” 

“Thanks, Curt. It was really nice to meet you Frank, I’ll see you around.’ You said your goodbyes and walked over to where your father was standing hunched over next to the refreshment table with his cane in one shaking hand and a cup of coffee in the other.  _ “That’d better be decaf, you know what the doctor said _ .” Frank heard you say as you looped your arm through his to guide him to the door. He couldn’t help but smile and hope that you came around more often.

Over the next several weeks, Frank found himself looking forward to the end of meetings, but for reasons completely different than when he started going. He couldn’t wait to see you as you arrived to make small talk before you took your grandfather home. In the small talk that the two of you would share, he learned quite a bit about you and your situation. You were an elementary school teacher who moved in with your grandfather in order to help take care of him after your grandmother died a couple of years prior. 

After one session, however, you didn’t show, and Frank began to grow worried. It was only rational to presume that something had come up and you weren’t able to make it, but his knee-jerk reaction was to assume the worst. 

“Does Y/N’s grandpa have a ride?” He asked as he routinely helped Curtis stack chairs away. He was the last one left of the others who were at the meeting, standing over by the coffee with his cane. 

Curtis nodded, wiping off his hands on his pant legs. “Y/N gave me a call and asked me to be his chauffeur, she said that her car broke down and she wouldn’t be able to take him to and from the meeting today.” He explained. “Which means i’ll be a little late for a date that I have in a bit, but I’d rather know that he made it home safe.” 

Frank saw his opportunity and took it. “I could see him home if you’d like. You don’t need your good heart tripping up your love life.” He offered nonchalantly, but on the inside he was really hoping that Curtis would agree. 

However, his friend knew exactly what was on his mind and gave him a knowing smirk. “Don’t play like this isn’t you trying to see Y/N again.”  

Frank hung his head and gave a chuckle. Curtis really did know him too well. Nevertheless, Curt gave him your address and pulled him into a final hug. On the way out the door, he shook your grandfather’s hand as a farewell. “Frankie here’s going to be seeing you home tonight because I’ve got to run. Let me know if he gives you any trouble and I’ll sort him out for you, ok?” Which made the old man give a beaming smile.

Frank was the next one to shake his hand. “Sir, I don’t think I’ve ever formally introduced myself. The name’s Frank.” 

“Arthur.” He responded, shaking Frank’s hand with firm grip, making it clear where you had gotten yours from. “You serve, son?” 

“In Afghanistan, sir. As a Marine.” He said, holding out his arm for the other man to take.

He did with an enthusiastic “ _ oorah _ ,” picking up his cane in one hand and taking Frank’s elbow in the other as he let Frank lead him to his beat-up pickup truck. 

It was pouring rain outside, but the cab of his truck was warm and his company was more than happy to fill the silence with stories from “back in ‘Nam.” Arthur and his pals in the same platoon got into quite a few shenanigans while they were stationed, and although Frank had been told the same story a couple of times during the car ride, he didn’t mind. 

Once he had arrived at your house, he walked your grandfather to the front door and knocked. He heard muffled footsteps on the other side and a second later, the door was opened to reveal you, dressed in flannel pajama bottoms and an old Mets t-shirt. Your hair was thrown up and disheveled and your feet were bare as you held onto a steaming mug. “Hey, old man.” You greeted your grandfather as he crossed the threshold, and then you turned your kind eyes to Frank. 

“Curtis had something.” He quickly blurted, nervous all of a sudden. You had expected Curt to drop your grandpa off, not Frank, and he didn’t want you to think that something was wrong when a big, bearded, surly-looking man dropped him off instead. “He had a, uh… a date, i think. Something like that.” He stuttered, and then mentally kicked himself for probably sounding like an idiot. 

To his surprise, you didn’t comment on how uneasy he must’ve been behaving, and instead gave him a fond look. “Did he tell you about the story about Nha Trang?” You asked with a smile telling of your grandfather’s talkative habits. 

“And the chickens in My Tho. Multiple times.” Frank answered amusedly.

“Thanks for putting up with him, i know that he can be quite the handful to people who expect a two-way conversation.” She said, which caused Frank to let out a small laugh. “Would you like to come in and get out of the rain?” You asked.

“I don’t want to be a bother, ma’am.” He responded quickly, but as you mentioned it, he noticed how after standing outside for only a couple of minutes, he was still completely soaked. 

Luckily, she merely stepped aside in the doorway. “I insist. Plus, I can throw your jacket in the dryer and have you out of here in 45 without having to worry about you catching a cold on the way back home, ok?” 

You left him practically no other choice, especially not with the promise of putting his sweatshirt on fresh out of the dryer, and he walked past you and into your home. You closed the door behind him, quieting the rain to a gentle patter on the roof. He gave you his jacket and you disappeared for a short minute before you strolled back past him into the kitchen. “I made chicken and mashed potatoes tonight, do you want me to fix you a plate?” You offered.

“That sounds wonderful, ma’am, I’d really like that. Thank you.” He said, pushing his rain-wet hair out of his face and taking a seat next to your grandfather at the sturdy wooden table that sat between the kitchen and the living room. As you put the plates down in front of the two men, Frank tucked in, and he felt like his soul left his body. He hadn’t had food that good in ages. 

“Can I get you something hot to drink and warm you from the inside out?” You asked. “I just brewed a fresh pot of coffee. I could also put the kettle on if you want tea instead, you just look more like a coffee man to me.” You told him.

“Sounds like you’ve got me in a box here, ma’am.” He said, “I’ll take it black.” 

“Black it is then,” You said, getting a mug from one of the cabinets and pouring him a generous cup. “And you can ease up on the formalities, Frank. Y/N is just fine.” You handed Frank the warm mug, and he accepted it with a quiet “thank you.”

“I like a man who uses those titles.” Your grandfather interjected. “It shows respect.” 

“I know, pop.” You sighed. “But it makes me feel like an old maid, and there are other ways that a man can show women respect, like  _ taking their hats off at the table. _ ” You lightly swat his shoulder, and he quickly swipes the “VETERAN” hat off of his head with a sheepish grin.

The three of you make lighthearted conversation, and it’s no surprise that Arthur dominates it with tales of his service and other worldly travels. It would be boring if he wasn’t as funny or as good of a storyteller as he was, and Frank finds himself laughing so hard that he loses his breath a couple of times, which hadn’t happened for far too long. 

All too soon, Arthur says goodnight to you and Frank before disappearing from the kitchen in order to head to bed, and you take all of their dishes, washing them while Frank finished off his coffee. 

Once the dishes were put away, you sat across from him at the table, the setting littered with papers and various colored pens. “It looks like you have a lot going on over there.” He remarked, looking at your setup. 

You sighed and ran a hand through your hair. “It’s conference season and I have a lot on my plate and things are kind of falling apart right now, if I’m honest.” You said, and your eyes immediately widened. “I mean,  _ shit _ , that just kind of slipped out. I don’t mean to drag you into my pity party, Frank. I’m sorry, change the subject.” 

Your cheeks turned red and you avoided his gaze as you waited for him to say something, but Frank wouldn’t let this slide. “You know, if there’s anything that I’ve learned in the past few months, it’s that talking about things that you’re struggling with to other people really helps.” He said softly. “I don’t mind.” 

And so, with a little bit of hesitation, you started talking about what you were struggling with. Conference season meant that it was time to meet up with the parents of your students and discuss their marks and behavior in class, and while mostly docile and manageable, there were a few students whose parents treated you badly, and it was stressing you out to try and have to prove yourself to them. Because your car broke down, you were late to a meeting with one said parent, who was unhappy, to say the least, and you had received several passive aggressive emails from them in retaliation for “wasting their time.” 

“That sounds brutal.” Frank commented.

“Yeah,” you sighed. “And on top of that, there’s a ton of repairs that need to be made in this house and I don’t have the time to do them myself or the money to pay someone else to.”

Frank perked up. That was something that he was familiar with, and if helping you out meant that he would get to spend more time getting to know you, then he would be more than happy to be of service. “What needs to be fixed?” He asked. 

“Almost all of the faucets in this house leak, the lock on the back door gets stuck, the living room needs to be repainted, the fence needs to be stained, the sprinkler system in the back garden got messed up with all the crazy weather we’ve been having, and the garage door gets jammed half of the time, to name a few.” You told him. 

“You know, I’m no stranger to a box of tools, Y/N, and I’d be happy to help.” 

Y/N’s face fell. “That would be so wonderful, but I don’t have the money to pay you for all of that, Frank.”

“You don’t need to pay me.” He insisted.

“I understand that you could do this out of the goodness of your heart, but I won’t feel right about it unless i give you something in return.” 

“Tell you what,” Frank started, putting his mug down. “You could pay me with a hot meal once every week. I don’t get eat a lot of home cooking these days, and I would much rather not eat alone.” 

You considered it for a moment. “Make it twice a week.” You said after a beat. 

“Will that be too much?” 

“Too much? Come on, Frank. With all the things you’re going to do around here, I’m surprised you don’t want to come by every night!” 

“Sounds like a deal then.” He said, flashing a grin as you held out your hand across the table. He shook it, the warmth of your palm lingering on his fingertips even after you pulled it away. 

About 10 minutes later, as Frank walked back to his truck in a warm coat with a plate to go in a tupperware container, he couldn’t believe his luck. He felt happy in a way as he got back into his truck, a way that he hadn’t felt in quite some time. Not only would he be able to spend more time with you and your grandfather, but he would also be able to feel like he had a good sense of purpose. 

Pete Castiglione had something going for him with this, he really did. 

**Author's Note:**

> catch me on tumblr @darlingpeter!! also all feedback and kudos are welcomed and super appreciated!


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